


Advent Cookies

by hedda62



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Advent, Background Character Death, Baked Goods, Cookies, Gen, Gen with Flirting, Irrelevant Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedda62/pseuds/hedda62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw's brand of grief, Root's style of concern, Harold's strain of guilt, and Bear-bait: it all comes down to cookies in the end. Set after 3x10, "The Devil's Share."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeebuddha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/gifts).



Bear waited until they'd climbed the steps in the library to shake the wet off himself, spray flying all over Shaw. She did her best to imitate him, then unclipped the leash and shrugged off her coat. It was pouring outside, and raw with cold, but both of them had needed a walk, and it was the only thing that would distract Bear from his vigil at Reese's bedside.

The dog's ears perked up as though he'd heard a sound inaudible to humans, and he trotted off in the opposite direction than Shaw expected. Toward…

_Okay,_ she thought as she followed, _the only_ other _thing that distracts him._ Root was crouched near the perimeter of her cage, holding out what looked like a gingerbread man with a yellow halo, though since it disappeared immediately into Bear's mouth Shaw couldn't really tell.

"Sugar's not good for him," she informed Root, and got back a mildly sarcastic grimace, as if Root knew exactly how many pieces of donut Shaw had slipped Bear in the last month. Hell, she probably did know. Bear was an asset to the Machine as much as the rest of them, and a source of interesting data. And if they all broke up soon, which didn't seem unlikely at the moment, he was going to be a point of contention in the divorce settlement.

"Okay, you've had your treat," she snarled, not really at Bear. "Go see John and Harold." He gulped down the rest of his cookie with no apparent shame, and loped off.

"Don't worry," Root said, gentle and insinuating. "I left some for you." She stood and stepped back, and Shaw could see the box of cookies on the table.

"What, was Harold feeling guilty he locked you up again?" It was _exactly_ what Harold would do. Not that he tried to buy affection by giving out sweet things; maybe it was more that he wanted to make up for not having enough affection to give. Except where dogs were concerned, Shaw didn't think that sort of manipulation was worth a hill of shit. But it was cold inside too, and she was hungry. "I like the round ones with the powdered sugar," she told Root.

"Open your mouth and close your eyes," Root recited, picking up the cookie in two dainty fingers and advancing. Shaw went along with the game as far as opening her jaw and sticking her tongue out through the mesh, but kept her eyes open. The sugar melted, squeaking against her teeth; the interior crunched slightly. Chopped nuts: pecans, she thought with a twinge of childhood memory. She licked her lips.

"Sameen, I'm so sorry," said Root.

If there hadn't been a barrier between them, Shaw would have grabbed Root around the throat and choked her. "Shut up, you," she growled instead. "You don't get to say that."

Root stepped back, spreading her hands out, innocent. "I have been _trying_ to help as much as--"

"He let you out to find John. You could have talked him into letting you out" -- she stopped, controlled her voice -- "earlier."

"In time to save her life." Shaw growled again, and Root came a little closer. "You've just implied I could have," she remarked with irritating logic, "so I don't see why my saying so should make you angry. But I don't think I could have persuaded Harold to let me help, not then. We have… a history, you know."

She said it like she and Harold had been fucking, which was not something Shaw wanted to picture. "Yeah, you're more like the embarrassing daughter-in-law," she said, and Root let out a peal of laughter.

"Oh, that's clever," she said, reaching into the cookie box again. "You get a treat for that." Scalloped edges, double-layer, with an exposed circle of jam. "Just like you," Root said, feeding it to Shaw, "all gooey in the middle. You're much better at observing relationships than you give yourself credit for."

"Didn't say I wasn't," Shaw mumbled with her mouth full. "Other people's feelings. Pretty useful sometimes."

"No reason to handicap yourself by indulging in them," Root said. "I get that. In fact I admire you for it." She met Shaw's eyes; her gaze was mesmerizing, like a predator's. "Is admiration an emotion, do you think? Or more like a clinical assessment of value? The latter's much more convenient." Shaw shrugged. "You… admired Detective Carter, didn't you?" Root went on.

"Yeah." Agreement wasn't what Root meant to provoke, so it was what Shaw gave her. "Yeah, I did. She was awesome."

"Mm. I'm glad she has people to mourn her. I wish I'd known her better."

"You didn't know her at all. Don't pretend you did."

Root nodded, still serene. "Mostly through intermediaries. John. Harold. You. And" -- she tilted her head, glancing upwards -- "her, of course. Did you know Joss played college softball? That she had a .280 batting average and was great at stealing bases? Do you know how many interrogations she conducted in Iraq? Did you know she was married for five years? Five years, two months, and eleven days, to be precise. Not that numbers mean anything. Though the number of women she ever slept with was zero."

Shaw was getting good at this not-being-provoked thing. "If numbers don't mean anything, I'll have another cookie."

This one, fed to her with a brush of fingertips across her mouth, was a chocolate wafer that pretty much dissolved as she bit into it, leaving a delicate scent of cocoa and orange behind. "Yum," Shaw said once she'd swallowed.

"It's so nice to have someone to share with," Root said, though Shaw noticed she wasn't eating any. "And someone to wait with."

"What are we waiting for? Besides Reese waking up and" -- _having another shit fit_ \-- "mourning some more?"

"We're waiting for what's coming," Root said solemnly, with another glance upward. Crazy religious crap was one thing, but Shaw kind of knew this god was real, which made it creepier when Root seemed to be… chosen.

"You know what usually happens to prophets?" she said. "They get dead. You'd look good all shot full of arrows. Not so great with body parts chopped off."

"That would be _martyrs,_ " Root said in her schoolmarm tone, "and as long as I'm in here and the rest of you are out there, I'm not the one who has to worry about being tortured and murdered."

"Yeah, not worried that much," Shaw said.

"Mm. I was thinking about Harold. He'll need you, you know."

"He'll have Reese." But would he? It was really hard to… prophesy that. "But yeah. I've got his back."

Root smiled broadly. "Oh, I'm so glad." She stepped over and plucked another cookie from the box: one of the gingerbreads this time, something with big-ass wings. An angel, or an eagle, or maybe a dove since that was more Christmassy, though it wasn't really close to Christmas yet and a dove cookie ought to look more like a folded-wing pigeon poking along the sidewalk looking for crumbs. Angel, probably.

Root bit its head off, then broke off a wing and brought it over to Shaw. "Lots of cloves in this," she said. "And nutmeg. Spicy."

"Just how I like my pigeons," Shaw said, and munched some. It was really good. "You should probably get some exercise if you're going to be eating all those."

Root gestured: _look how small my gym is._ "Nasty weather outside, though," she said.

Bear's head had still been wet when she patted it. But Shaw had a feeling Root could supply temperature and daily total of rainfall if asked. "What you said about Carter before--" she began.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to imply that she wouldn't have--"

"No. Shut up. The stats. The Machine told you that about her… when you were out yesterday and scaring Fusco with stories about zoos in between shooting people? Or before and you just happened to remember?"

"I have a _really_ good memory. It's one of my best traits."

"I bet." _And one of Finch's is building things that work. Work in conflict with each other, sometimes._ "Well, thanks for the cookies. Or I guess I should thank Harold. Maybe I'll go take Bear off his hands again. I wonder if it's going to stop raining any time soon?"

No answer, though Root gave her a little wave with the remaining angel wing. Shaw headed for the door.

"Sameen?"

"Don't call me that," she said, not turning around.

"Sam," and Root's voice was tender and crisp and full of ginger and cinnamon, saying _we are the same._ "It's snowing."

Shaw nodded once, and went to find the nearest window to watch it come down.


End file.
